A blank page;
an open document.
A flickering white screen
too bright to mar with words.
I sit uncertain,
mind blank but still overly full.
Soon my fingers will dance,
the keys pressed,
an attempted melody in rough draft.
Playing god, I strike thoughts down;
revisions.
The fates of each sentence hanging at my whim.
Which will survive?
A slaughter in editing
as the carefully plucked prose
drifts by, hogs on a conveyer being stripped
to each naked component.
The absolute gore of it
as another phrase is sacrificed, forgotten;
for the sake of the whole it dies.
